The Big Telephone
by KayEn78
Summary: In April of 1967, Sgt. Joe Friday's vacation is interrupted (again) due to a dead body found that leads him and Officer Bill Gannon to surprising and disturbing circumstances.
1. Chapter 1

The Big Telephone

(A _Dragnet_ Fan Fiction Story)

By: Kristi N. Zanker

**Author's Note:** I chose to write fan fiction about the 60's version of _Dragnet_ (1967-1970) because most seem to be more familiar with it than the original series that ran from 1951-1959 and the radio show which aired throughout 1949-1957. However, I have taken background information from all three shows and placed it into my story, hoping the reader will get a clear, well-rounded picture. For instance, there are flashbacks about Joe Friday's childhood and high school years. I also gave him a steady girlfriend. And of course, the _Dragnet_ "quirks" are included.

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognized characters, settings, etc. are the property of Mark VII Limited and Universal. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. I, in no way am associated with the owners, creators, or producers of _Dragnet_. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Warning:** This story contains some language, and adult themes. It is not suitable for children.

Chapter One

While driving home from LAX, Sergeant Joe Friday decided to drive down Collis Avenue. As he neared house number 4656—a small yellow early American ranch with white shutters—a thousand memories came flooding back. He had grown up in that house and helped his mother take care of it until 1952. He could visualize the inside, where the large console radio sat in the living room, the icebox and later refrigerator in the kitchen, the phone in the hall on the small table, or the wringer washing machine out on the back porch. For a second he wondered if the radio was still there. Of course it wouldn't be! After all, this was Sunday, April 9, 1967 and who used console radios and wringer washing machines anymore? And some people today had more than _three_ telephones in the house! He felt a lump in his throat. No, now was not the time to get emotional. Not on some stranger's lawn—_which also used to belong to my mother and me,_ he thought.

A week ago, his mother had passed away. She was almost 75, but it still hurt. Joe remembered that every time he came home, whether it was three in the afternoon or three in the morning, his mother would wake up and fix him something to eat. She always told him he never got enough to eat. He didn't mind living with her for all those years, even though his detective partners would constantly tease him about settling down and getting married.

Ever since he joined the LAPD in 1940, his mother always worried about him. Joe's father had passed away when he was young and didn't remember much about him. So, he felt it was his responsibility to take care of his mother; after all she raised him during the poverty-stricken 1920s, and Great Depression. When Pearl Harbor was bombed eighteen months after Joe joined the force, Uncle Sam decided to give him a deferment because he was the sole provider in the family. Being the patriotic man that he was, along with thousands of others, Joe enlisted in one of the branches of military service—the United States Army.

From 1942 to 1945, Joe trained and then fought across Europe in large battles like the invasion of Normandy and the Battle of the Bulge and many smaller battles that he and his buddies would only remember. Everyone knew that Hitler and his regime had to be conquered and finally in early May, 1945, the Germans surrendered. All throughout this time, when he could, Joe sent the majority of his combat pay home to his mother. She needed it more than he did, he always thought.

When Joe returned home, he resumed his position with the LAPD, feeling lucky to have a job at all, where so many veterans around him had trouble finding work and even housing. Soon, things returned to as they were, or they seemed to as the post-war months went by. The war had been an interruption for young men like him, but that soon drifted into the past. Everyone wanted to move on with their lives. Sometimes, it was as if he had never left at all—almost.

With Joe's pay, he and his mother were able to keep the house until 1952. He had been a sergeant for quite some time by then; however, the pay increases weren't keeping up with the rising inflation. Paying the mortgage and bills became tough and it was in the spring of that year, when Ma Friday decided to move to Maplewood, New Jersey with her husband's relatives. Now, it was her son who worried about her, but she told him time and again not to be concerned. Besides, he needed a place of his own, one he could afford, and find a nice girl to settle down with and raise a family.

He did find a reasonable apartment, but the girls came and went. Many of them couldn't handle his work hours and were angry with him when he cancelled one too many dates. Most recently, he was seeing a woman named Gracie Adams. He had met her at the pool at the apartment complex where they both lived. She lived on the first floor of the building and he on the second. She was ten years younger than him, and still looked stunning in her red bathing suit. He even told her shyly, on that first meeting, that red was his favorite color and their conversation went from there.

Gracie stood 5' 6" to his 5' 11" frame. Her round face was very pretty when her dark blonde hair framed it. They found out that they had quite a bit in common. They both loved listening to the old music together, going bowling, lounging at the beach or pool. Sometimes, they'd go out to a nice Italian or Mexican restaurant and then take a leisurely stroll in MacArthur Park. Other times, they enjoyed dinner at the local hot dog or hamburger stand. But most of the time, Gracie made dinner for Joe when he arrived home at a decent hour. She didn't mind him breaking the dates. She knew he had a serious job to do. This woman wasn't like the whiny girls he used to know. Often, as a nice gesture, she would buy him several cartons of Chesterfield cigarettes, knowing that he probably didn't have time to stop during the day and buy some himself. Right now, it seemed as if everything was falling into place, of what his mother had said to him fourteen years ago. However, his current partner, Bill Gannon, kept teasing him about not being married yet. He would retort back that he had been seeing Gracie for only four months.

Now, Joe was on his way home to the apartment. He thought about giving Gracie a call when he got in, but the sudden feeling of jet lag overwhelmed him. It was three hours ahead out east, but still, he was exhausted from the flight and funeral process. He retrieved his mail as he took the elevator to the second floor. Too tired to walk up the stairs, he said to himself. As he unlocked the door, silence greeted him as it always had for over a decade.

After throwing his clothes in the hamper and placing the suitcase on the bedroom closet shelf, Joe went to the telephone and dialed Gracie's number. He wanted to let her know that he was home safe and perhaps they could get together the next day. He heard her voice say "hello" after the third ring.

"Hi honey, I just got in," he said.

"Oh, Joe! How _are_ you? You sound tired."

"I'm okay…everything's been taken care of." He didn't feel like talking about his mother then. So, he'd get right to the point. "Gracie, I still have a week of vacation. I was wondering if we could get together tomorrow."

"That sounds wonderful."

They made plans to have Joe pick Gracie up at the insurance office where she worked as a secretary, and go for lunch. He smiled to himself as he hung up the phone. Suddenly, the strong feeling of fatigue swept over him. The three hour time difference was really getting to him now. He knew he had to eat something first, so he went into the kitchen and boiled a can of soup. After eating and finishing his cigarette, he climbed into bed and fell into a deep sleep.

A constant piercing noise woke him up. Joe didn't know what time it was. In his state of mind, he knew he had to get ready for work, but then stopped to remember that he was still on vacation. Why did I set the alarm? He asked himself, reaching over to turn it off. Only when he tried to turn it off, it continued to ring.

"What the—" he mumbled, as he awoke. Of course, it was the phone! Not the alarm clock. He rolled over and snatched the receiver.

"Friday, here," he said, as if on cue.

"Joe! I wasn't sure if you'd be there. I didn't know you were back from vacation yet." It was his partner Bill Gannon.

"I'm _not_," Joe sighed.

"Well, we have a bad one here. I'm sorry to have to cut your vacation short, but a sanitation worker just phoned saying they found a dead body and they want us to take a look."

After Joe showered and shaved, he called Gracie and told her he couldn't meet for lunch. He wasn't sure when he would be able to get together with her and she said it was okay. When he hung up the phone, he grabbed his keys and hurried out the door.

As soon as Joe made it to the station, he turned around and walked back out with his partner, Bill. They found their unmarked gold 1967 Ford Fairlane waiting in the parking lot with the other non-marked vehicles. The two made small talk as they weaved in and out of traffic. Otherwise most of the ride was silent. Joe was still tired from the exhaustive week, and saddened by the passing of his mother; he did not look forward to visiting the dump on this particular Monday morning. It could lead to anything—all night stakeouts, endless legwork, countess interviews. He hoped that after this case, whatever it may be, he could have his second week of vacation.

Minutes later, they arrived at their destination. Black-and-white units were nearby. A policeman stood guarding the corpse, who was covered completely in a white sheet, as Joe and Bill inched nearer. Introductions were made. Sanitation workers stood at a distance trying desperately to look uninterested in what lay before them.

Joe lifted the sheet. A yellow pillow case covered the woman's head. He already knew the corpse was a woman because she wore a dress, showing off her feminine features. Blood engulfed the pillowcase, turning the once pastel yellow shade into a dark crimson. Streaks of red made their way down onto the dress, leaving only the bottom to show the original color of lime green. Just by staring at her, both men came to the conclusion that she must've been hit in the head repeatedly with a blunt object. He and Bill also took note that the body had been wrapped in a large Oriental rug.

"I was the one who found the…uh…it," one of the sanitation worker's said, stepping forward, as he pointed to the corpse. "I thought it was just an old rug, you know, but when it fell out of the truck and unraveled, well, that's what was inside. I had no idea anything was in there when I picked up the garbage can it had been in."

The man, who introduced himself as Mr. Stanley, was as tall as the detectives, in his late forties, sported a beard and had a beer belly on him.

"Do you remember where you picked up the Oriental rug?" asked Joe.

"No, I just see the full garbage cans in front of the houses and do my job," he replied. "I can do those routes in my sleep. It's like the milkman. You have your certain areas and you do them over and over. I don't really pay attention to anything but what I'm supposed to be doing because we're all on the clock, you know."

"Yes, we realize that, Mr. Stanley. Was there anything suspicious or unusual about the Oriental rug?" asked Joe.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, did you see blood stains or did anything fall out when you emptied that can into your truck?" asked Bill.

"No, like I said, I thought it was just an old rug. A little bit on the heavy side, but you know when you roll up carpet how heavy it gets."

Joe nodded as Bill scribbled incessantly on his notepad.

"I'm sorry I can't be of any more help," the man said. "But I hope you find the person who did this.

"We hope so, too," said Joe.

Before leaving, they got Mr. Stanley's address and phone number, in case they needed to ask more questions later on.

Back at the office, a DB Report was filled out, however, under the name, they wrote 'Jane Doe.' Hopefully, the coroner could give them more clues and perhaps some identification can be made.

For the rest of the morning, they caught up on paperwork. Even though Joe was supposed to be off this week, there was always something to do at the office. He spent the morning filing the past week's reports that had piled up. Around noon they went out for lunch.

About an hour later, both returned to find the same sanitation worker they had interviewed that morning, waiting for them.

"Can we help you, Mr. Stanley?" asked Joe.

"I don't know if this will help you, but I found these clothes," said Mr. Stanley, as he held out a tattered, soiled paper grocery bag toward Joe and Bill.

"Clothes?" replied Joe.

"Well, after you left, I searched around the area where the body had been and I found this."

Joe took the bag and reached inside. He pulled out its only contents-a girl's dress. Blood stains covered it. Whether these stains matched the ones on the pillowcase and lime green dress, Joe was not sure, but it was something to look into.

They thanked Mr. Stanley for bringing this to their attention. After that, they made arrangements with the coroner to collect the dress and check the blood stains to see if there was a match. It was a long shot, but it might turn up something.

Joe and Bill laid the dress out on the table and examined it themselves before the coroner arrived. It was a cotton spring green dress patterned with blue, pink, and yellow flowers. Immediately they ruled out the stains were definitely not menstrual blood, for most of it was on the front of the dress where the buttons were, and hardly any blood could be seen on the back of the dress. They noticed that one of the buttons was missing and that they were a clear color. A white peter-pan collar outlined the top, but was slightly wrinkled. Tiny droplets of blood peppered the collar.

They peered over the grocery bag the dress was found in. A store name in bold, yet wrinkly lettering stared up at them. It was a common supermarket chain in the Los Angeles area. The dress was the kind a teenager would wear. They were still trying to piece the puzzle together and make sense of the crime from what little evidence they had when the coroner arrived to pick up the found evidence.

The rest of the afternoon seemed endless. If the blood matched, it would be a step further, but at the same time, they would be right where they started. If the blood matched, and they knew which type, it cancelled out several thousand people, but left more than a few with the same information. Some traces were like that, helpful, but hardly.

At four-thirty, Joe came up with an idea. Even though the sanitation worker said he didn't remember where he had picked up the Oriental rug, perhaps if they took him for a ride on his route, something would click in his mind. He got on the phone and left a note with Mrs. Stanley. Joe hoped that he would receive the message and be at the station at 9:00 a.m. the next day.

It was almost time to go home. Joe hoped nothing would happen between now and five o'clock. There were many times that phone would ring at five minutes to five and they'd be at work several more hours for whatever reason. The phone did ring, much to Joe's disappointment, but that feeling instantly lifted when the caller was transferred to another department in the building.

Joe glanced at his watch—three minutes to five. Usually, he wasn't like this, he liked his job, but on some days, he just wanted to get home. With his mother's passing, and missing Gracie, he didn't have any time to think straight. He was trying to think about what he was going to do when he got home. Meanwhile, Bill was rattling on what Eileen had made for dinner that night.

"Joe? Joe," he heard Bill say. "What are you doing tonight?"

"What?"

"I said, what are you doing tonight?"

"Oh, uh, I don't know. Eating and sleeping, I guess."

"Yeah, you do look tired."

"Well, whose fault is that? You're the one who woke me up this morning!"

Both men got up and signed themselves out for the day. They parted ways at the door of Parker Center, each locating their respective car in the parking lot. Joe found his powder blue 1964 Ford Fairlane and unlocked the door.

The weather was warm, around 80 degrees. After rolling down the window, he fished in his pocket for a cigarette. When finding nothing, he sighed and started the engine. He knew he had some at home.

As he eased into traffic, his mind began to wander again, but was quickly interrupted by a bright green Volkswagon Beetle, who cut in front of Joe. Seeing that color made him think of the woman they found this morning. _Don't think about that now,_ he thought. But he couldn't help it. _Was she a mother too? Why was she killed? Who killed her?_ His mind went on. _Maybe she had a family. Oh stop, stop!_ He _really_ wished he had a cigarette.

Just then, the Volkswagen came to a screeching halt, causing Joe and the car behind him to slam on their brakes.

"Damn teenagers!" Joe muttered to himself. "Don't they know how to drive a stick shift!?"

He stared at the three ahead of him in the car. From what he could see, a girl with brown hair was driving. Two other girls were with her, or so he thought, one could've been a boy. It was hard to tell these days with everyone, even the boys, wanting long hair.

As if the freeway was on his side, a spot opened up and Joe took it. Driving past the teenagers, he caught an earful of the music blaring from the radio. He shook his head. Like most people his age, he couldn't understand today's teenagers. _No wonder that girl can't drive! She has the radio turned up so loud and what's coming out of it sounds like nails on a chalkboard!_ He thought to himself.

This music that the teenagers loved was getting weirder every day. Now, they've added Indian instruments, like sitars to rock 'n' roll songs. And the lyrics! So sexually explicit! It made Joe cringe half of the time. What happened to the _real _music that they used to listen to? If today's teenagers heard that, they'd just roll their eyes in disgust.

Once, he and Bill ate lunch at a diner. It was a popular one where a lot of the teenagers hung out and word got around that drugs were being sold there. While they waited and scoped out the place, the jukebox played The Rolling Stones' "Let's Spend the Night Together." How could they allow a song like that to be put out?! Bill had told Joe, who only shook his head. Nothing made sense anymore.

The young boys' hair was getting longer! Those darned Beatles started that one. Soon everybody wanted to look like them. Now, you could hardly tell who was a boy or a girl, unless you looked in one place or they spoke. It was so embarrassing!

And those mini-skirts! Young girls should be ashamed to walk out of the house in one of those. What kind of parents would allow their daughter to wear such a thing? _If I had daughters…._

He guessed it was like this for every generation. Parents couldn't understand swing music when Joe and his friends were teenagers. But today's noise was just obnoxious. Of course he kept all of these thoughts to himself, but once in awhile he'd share them with Gracie.

Like yesterday, when Joe opened the door to his apartment, the silence said, "Hello." Part of him was glad for a moment. He found a pack of cigarettes in his nightstand drawer. While puffing away, his thoughts turned to Gracie. When he finished the cigarette, he dialed her number and was silently thrilled to hear her voice. Could he be over in twenty minutes for dinner? Why, sure he could! He still felt tired, but a nice dinner with Gracie wouldn't hurt. She was always good company.

Copyright © 2010 by Kristi N. Zanker


	2. Chapter 2

The Big Telephone

(A _Dragnet_ Fan Fiction Story)

By: Kristi N. Zanker

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognized characters, settings, etc. are the property of Mark VII Limited and Universal. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. I, in no way am associated with the owners, creators, or producers of _Dragnet_. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Warning:** This story contains strong language, adult themes, and sexual situations.

Chapter Two

Joe was emotionally, mentally, and physically drained. From his mother's death, to the 'Jane Doe' case, and tonight at Gracie's—he wasn't sure he could take any more. He kept tossing and turning. Sleep was the furthest thing from his mind now. But he was over tired and had to get up in six hours. He had gotten home from Gracie's around one-thirty this morning. The night's events kept swirling around in his mind. Part of him felt like he was a teenager again and the other was a bundle of nerves.

Here he was, forty-seven years old; years had passed since he had been intimate with a woman. Oh, he had been on many dates, but there had been no one he wanted to have relations with. Now times were changing. People didn't care anymore or so it seemed. They just wanted to have fun. And what was wrong with that? Like everything else, he took it seriously, not just a casual thing like a lot of people did today. His mind began to wander back to his childhood, when he first started to notice girls in his class at school.

In the spring of 1928, during second grade, if Joe liked a girl, he'd pull the ribbon out of their hair and hide it in his shirt or pants pocket. He would then act like he never saw the ribbon and the girl would get so angry with him and run off. At the end of the school year, he had quite a collection. But then he wondered what he would do with all of these hair ribbons? So, on the last day of class that year, he took them back to school. Outside during lunch he got out the bundle of ribbons and one by one the girls came by to claim them. Some of the girls grabbed their ribbon and ran, while others stood by for a moment and smiled. Soon, the pile shortened to three hair ribbons, then finally one pink one. He turned around saw a tiny blonde girl in a yellow polka dot dress. Her name was Sadie and she sat behind Joe in class.

"I was hoping you would bring my ribbon back," she said softly, as Joe handed her the ribbon.

"You wanna have lunch with me?" he asked.

"Okay. Let me get my lunch pail."

Joe watched as Sadie ran to get her lunch pail which was underneath a tree. Instead of her coming back to him, he decided to go to her. The two of them sat under the large oak tree and ate their sandwiches and apples together. They didn't say much to one another, but both knew that it was nice to have someone to eat lunch with. Joe didn't have a lot of friends and neither did Sadie. She was new to the neighborhood. And Joe couldn't run or play baseball like the other boys in his class because of his bad asthma.

Often, at night, he'd lay awake wheezing, praying to God, for the wheezing to go away so that he and his mother could sleep. He knew that she listened down the hallway and heard him coughing and wheezing. He never invited anyone over to the apartment, for he didn't want anyone to see or find out that his mother carried him up the stairs; even walking up the four flights of stairs made him wheeze. He didn't want the others to know that his mother was on Relief, due to his father being severely wounded in the First World War and then dying five years later as a result of the wounds. They were so poor, he felt ashamed of it.

But Sadie was poor, too. During that summer, the two of them formed a strong friendship. They would joke around and say that when they grew up they were going to get married. Sometimes, the two of them would play house (which would be a cardboard box) and they would let Sadie's dachshund be "their" dog. Her Raggedy-Ann doll became "their" baby. If they were lucky, once in a great while, the two of them had enough money to go to a picture show. They never had enough money for candy or popcorn. But sitting in the darkened movie house, where other kids chewed on their O'Henry bars and munched on the salty concessions, Joe held Sadie's hand and would not let it go until the picture was over.

In August, Joe went over to Sadie's like any other summer day. But a large sign was nailed to the front door. He couldn't read the word, so he rang the doorbell. Sadie's mother had answered and what she had to say frightened Joe.

She told him that Sadie had infantile paralysis or polio, as the disease was sometimes called by the grown-ups. The girl was quarantined in her home until she got better. Joe had heard about polio, but didn't quite understand it. He knew that it left some people crippled for the rest of their lives. Other times, his mother would warn him to stay away from the swimming pool, the movie house or any place that may have a crowd. He always obeyed his mother, but there was one time he asked why he couldn't go anywhere. His mother had said something about a polio epidemic. He understood enough.

For a week, Joe wondered about Sadie. He wished his mother had a telephone so that he could call her. But then, he wasn't sure if Sadie's mother had a phone either. He wished he could see her. If she was too sick to take care of her dog, he would do that for her. But another week went by. School would be starting after Labor Day. Joe hoped Sadie and him would enter third grade together.

He could remember that day well. It was raining and he was sitting by the window in his bedroom, hoping for a cool breeze. Tiny rain drops escaped into the room, but it wasn't enough to cool him off in the ninety-five degree heat. In his mind, Joe could see himself, with his face pressed against the screen.

"Don't do that, Joe, you might fall out," his mother had said.

He pulled his face from the screen.

"Why don't you come over here and sit with me for a minute? I have something to tell you," she said.

"Is it about Sadie?" he asked, suddenly feeling his stomach do a flip-flop as he sat on the bed next to his mother.

"Yes. She went home today—"

"What? Sadie's home?" Joe started to say. "But she was already—"

"No, Joe. She went home with the Lord this morning." His mother put her arm around him.

"You mean…she died?" He shook his head. "I didn't want her to die." Tears welled up in his eyes. "We're going to school together. Me and her."

But it wasn't meant to be. The first time Joe disobeyed his mother was when he ran off to Sadie's house during the funeral. His mother had told him not to go to the funeral since the house was still under quarantine. Sadie's house had a large bay window in the living room. Joe watched from behind a hedge in the front yard as mourners came to pay their respects at that bay window. No one, not even the grown-ups went inside the house at all. Joe guessed that they must've been afraid of polio too.

When no other mourners were around, he made his way slowly up the front steps. As he came closer to the window, he could see her—dressed in her yellow polka-dot dress. It was almost as if she was asleep. With his hands folded and his head bowed, he said a silent prayer for God to take good care of Sadie. When he looked up again, he saw Sadie's parents standing by her. He slowly backed away from the window, and then stopped. He felt frightened; however, Joe hoped that they wouldn't scold him or tell his mother where he'd been. But there was one last thing the boy had to do before he left the front porch.

In his right hand, Joe clutched a pink ribbon. He had bought it at the five-and-dime with the money he received for his allowance, which was a penny a week. He waved to Sadie through the window for the last time, stood for a few more seconds and then walked over to the front door. Instead of knocking, he tied the pink ribbon into a bow around the doorknob. That way, Sadie's parents would see it when they opened the door. And maybe then, they'd tie it in her hair or clasp it in her hand.

Joe never knew if they gave the ribbon to her or not. He had left quickly before anyone would open the door for Joe knew he had to get back home before his mother wondered where he was. While briskly walking home, he was glad he went to see Sadie. In his heart, he knew she had been his first love. As he grew older, he realized that more and more. Every time he saw a pink ribbon or a dachshund puppy, he thought of Sadie.

Joe had lived in poverty his entire life so when the Stock Market crashed in October of 1929; he and his mother hardly noticed any changes that the country was going through. The only difference Joe could see was that more grown-ups were out of work. For the two of them at least for the next few months, things went on as they had been.

In the spring of 1930, his elderly Aunt Mary came to visit and told them she couldn't keep up her house by herself anymore. Uncle Henry had passed away two years prior and left her an adequate amount of life insurance. However, she now needed help with the house and bills. They packed up their belongings and moved to the house on Collis Avenue. Neither of them missed the apartment one bit.

However, their Relief money ended when they left the apartment. But as soon as they moved in, Joe's mother went out looking for work while the boy was at school and he found odd jobs around the neighborhood. With everyone pitching in, the mortgage, bills, and groceries were paid for each month. They felt lucky to be healthy and together during those hard times.

Joe attended a new school and began to make new friends. One year, he tried selling magazines to raise more money for his mother and Aunt Mary. There was one article in a magazine that interested him about the 1933 Chicago World's Fair. He brought the magazine to school and showed it to his friends during lunch time. All the boys would huddle together and stare at the article. They weren't talking about the many events and attractions at the Fair. The only attraction that interested them was the fan dancer Sally Rand, who stood in the flesh, waving the fans in a seductive motion, and yet leaving everything to the imagination. As they gazed at the article and her picture, all of them wished they could see something like that in person. No one said it out loud, but they all thought it was fun to dream about what was hidden behind those moving fans, what a grown-up lady looked and felt like. For months, Joe saved up his allowance to pay for that one magazine.

When Joe entered high school, he noticed a different breed of girls and learned quickly that there two kinds-those who "did" and those who "didn't." After school, the boys would talk about which girls they thought "did" or some would boast about their experiences in the quietness in a friend's garage or backyard when no one else was home. Joe didn't know if any of them were telling the truth, but he sure was getting some information! He would just listen and nod, as if he understood everything they were saying. You had to get experience somewhere. And who were the boys supposed to get experience with? Why the girls, of course and not the ones you'd bring home to your mother.

At sixteen, Joe began to see Peggy Sanders. The two of them met in Latin class. Peggy did very well in Latin and he got up some courage and asked her for help. After school, the two of them would study and do their homework. She would quiz him on different words and their meanings.

One Monday in February of 1937, school was closed due to Washington's Birthday. Peggy came over after lunch to help him study for the next day's Latin exam. He had been doing well during this quiz, but at one point, she asked him, "Do you know what _coitus interruptus_ means?" And Joe's reply had been, "Is that going to be on the test? I don't think we learned that in class." Her response to that was a slight giggle and, "Good heavens, _no_!" And the conversation was halted due to his Aunt Mary, who at that moment strolled into the dining room, then wandered into the adjoining living room.

Minutes later, Joe heard the radio and an announcer saying boisterously, "…._deep _cleaning…._deep_ cleaning…._deep _cleaning….Oxydol's own _Ma Perkins__._" It seemed as though his aunt did not hear what had transpired just before she bustled through. At that particular moment, Joe guessed that the Latin words Peggy told him were something dirty. It had to be, why else would the girl giggle all of a sudden? What was so amusing about Aunt Mary's favorite radio program? Maybe it had to do with the announcer's repetitious pronunciation of the word _deep_.

Still, when exam time arrived the next day in Latin and others after that, Joe's grades rose from a C to an A. He was glad and appreciative of her help. He thanked her profusely. He decided to take her out on a real date, on a Saturday night.

They had gone bowling and then out to a diner. Afterward, the two of them walked around the neighborhood for awhile and then found a secluded, wooded area about three blocks from his house. It was there that the two of them would neck and pet one another. Joe realized that Peggy was definitely not a shy girl when she took his hand and placed it on her breast. She then, lifted her dress and moved his hand down further. She too, reached out and touched him, but after a few minutes of this exciting, new sensation, his teenage hormones couldn't take it any longer. After that, she taught him how to please a woman and finally learned what _coitus interruptus_ meant.

Joe would've been lying if he said he didn't enjoy being with Peggy, but something always bothered him about her. He wondered how many other boys she done this to and also thought that she must not have a lot of respect for herself. But for awhile, the hormones gave in.

The two of them would sit in the balcony at the movie house, not the watch the screen, but to pet and neck like the other couples around them were doing. After that it was to their "special" spot. For a month and a half, they met there and explored one another.

But one day, Peggy did not show up and Joe thought he'd die. But his conscience knew better. He knew she had found another boy to take advantage of. Later that year, Peggy disappeared from school. Whispered rumors were carried through the hallways saying that she got into "trouble." Joe thought it served her right for treating others like that. It was bound to happen sometime. On the other hand, he had some experience, but he knew better than to brag about it to his friends.

Joe's mind drifted again to Gracie and what had happened that night. He had arrived for dinner. When she opened the door, he was surprised to see her dressed up in a black and red floral party dress. She had made a very appetizing dinner and both shared wine afterward. He offered to wash the dishes while Gracie dried and put them away.

Joe now sat at the kitchen table and watched her finish up. He was glad he wasn't sitting in the living room, because he knew he'd be dozing on the couch. Coming home and doing the dishes was not something Gracie liked to do, Joe noticed after several dinners. It wasn't his favorite thing to do either, but he knew it was one of those nuisances that had to be done. He continued to stare as she carefully placed each plate and cup on the shelf.

When the middle shelf was full, she bounced up on the counter, and sat there, trying to fill the top shelf. His eyes wandered over to her ample cleavage and danced as he saw her breasts stir beneath her dress. His eyes quickly darted to the ceiling. _She knows how to put the dishes away,_ he thought.

"Enjoying the view?" she asked him, grinning.

"What? Oh, yes," he replied, looking back at her, realizing his voice was husky. He cleared his throat, and then smiled at her. He walked over to help her down when the last dish was put away.

Instead of the assistance off of the counter, she placed her arms around his neck, as his went around her waist. Before he could lift her, they were kissing. It grew more passionate and intense as their hands wandered. They only pulled away for a moment to catch a breath.

"You need to relax," Gracie said, her voice very sultry, as she kept tugging at his tie. Joe could only nod in agreement as he proceeded to untie the tie himself.

Even he had trouble because he was so nervous and yet couldn't wait to see what was in store for the rest of the evening. She just ran her hand up and down his arm slowly, nearly whispering that it was okay, there was no rush at all. Finally, what seemed after an eternity, he got it undone and threw the tie into the air and didn't see or care where it had landed. They picked up where they left off.

As they kissed, Gracie's hands undid the buttons of Joe's shirt, while his hands found their way to her breasts, playing with and squeezing them and watched her face as she smiled at his touch. His mouth made its way down her neck, and then back to her lips. With one hand gently kneading her breast, his other trailed down to the bottom of her dress and then snaked its way up underneath. She arched herself toward him and let his fingers press into her warm, waiting flesh. Her breathing quickened and she began to sigh pleasurably. He kept this up until he felt her body quiver. In an instant, Joe felt Gracie's hands quickly unbuckling, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, freeing him, all the while his eyes never leaving hers. With her legs wrapped and squeezed around his waist, she pulled into him, and he found his way into her. All the emotions that had piled up in the past week had risen to their peak. He shook at the intensity of their passion, gripping tighter to Gracie as each of his shudders subsided. Then in a moment he nearly collapsed from exhaustion on her. A few seconds passed and he looked at her. She was still sitting on the counter.

He kissed her as he helped her off of the counter and while cleaning up after themselves, they joked and said they were like a couple of teenagers. He was honest with her and said that it had been a very extensive time for him. She too was up front and told him that she had been engaged to be married a couple of years ago, but that had fallen through. She also mentioned that he need not to worry about anything because she was on the Pill. And she let him know that she wasn't one who slept around either.

They lay in her bed and talked well after midnight about everything. She even asked him to spend the night with her. Oh, how he wanted to! It would be wonderful, but that darned conscience got in the way. It just didn't seem right. Not yet. They both knew they crossed a huge line and they were going to take everything very carefully. Both still preferred the old fashioned ways, but sometimes, the new-fangled ones slipped in.

Before Joe left, Gracie asked him if he was sure he didn't want to spend the night and that there was nothing to feel guilty about. He told her he'd better go back to his place. He might receive a call; after all, it was the truth. There were times when that damned phone rang in the middle of the night because crime didn't go to sleep. He gave her a lingering kiss at the door and told her he would see her tomorrow after work.

It was now two-thirty in the morning and sleep began to envelope Joe. After this night, and being with Gracie, it really made him think of Sadie and other long ago memories. After remembering the feelings he had for her during that beautiful summer, he knew he had those same feelings for Gracie. He just couldn't bring himself to believe it until now.

Copyright © 2010 by Kristi N. Zanker


	3. Chapter 3

The Big Telephone

(A _Dragnet _Fan Fiction Story)

By: Kristi N. Zanker

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognized characters, settings, etc. are the property of Mark VII Limited and Universal. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. I, in no way am associated with the owners, creators, or producers of _Dragnet_. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Warning****: **This chapter contains some language, and adult themes. It is not suitable for children.

Chapter Three

Joe couldn't get Gracie and the last night out of his mind. _We had nice dinners like that in the past, but those didn't end so…so… _he couldn't finish that thought. _At least, not in the last decade or so,_ his mind went on. He knew if he continued to think about the night before, there would be trouble. So, next he wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was this morning on her way to work. As he neared Parker Center, his mind switched to work mode. He and Bill were supposed to meet with Mr. Stanley at 9 a.m. this morning and drive him on his route to see if he could remember anything about the 'Jane Doe' case.

It appeared as though Mr. Stanley did receive Joe's message yesterday, because he wandered into the office promptly at nine. Minutes later, all three of them were in the car and Mr. Stanley told the men his route. They followed it as if it were a regular day. They drove up and down streets, through the neighborhoods, but nothing in his mind seemed to click with yesterday. To him, all of the houses looked like the same ranch model or bungalow and every metal garbage can looked similar. Of course, since garbage pick up was yesterday morning, no one had their cans out by the curb today. They did see a few houses who had forgotten to bring their cans back to the garage. Joe asked if any of these houses looked familiar and Mr. Stanley shook his head.

When they arrived back at Parker Center, Mr. Stanley apologized, but Bill and Joe said it was okay and that these things happened. In their minds, they were thinking the same thing—it had been a wasted morning, but it was better than doing hours of paperwork. When they walked into their office, a woman was seated at the table, apparently waiting for them.

"Can we help you, Ma'am?" asked Joe.

"Yes." The woman in the blue and white gingham dress said, standing up to shake both of their hands. "I'm Mrs. Barton. I'm here to report a missing person. I haven't seen my neighbor, Virginia Wilcox, since Saturday. My daughter is friends with Ginny's daughter, Nadine. Everybody calls her Ginny."

"When did your daughter see her last?" asked Joe.

"Well, Ginny and I always play bridge on Saturday night over at her house. I let my daughter, Gail, stay the night on Saturday."

"Did she see Mrs. Wilcox on Sunday?" asked Bill.

"Well, she didn't say. But I assume so. Why shouldn't she? On Monday, I gave Ginny a call because I had a recipe to share with her and there was no answer. This was around three in the afternoon. I went outside and puttered in the garden for awhile until I saw Nadine and Gail walk up our street from school. You see, we live next door to one another."

"Yes, Ma'am," Joe said, nodding.

"I went over to them and asked Nadine if I could speak to her mother. But she said no, she wasn't feeling well today."

"What did your daughter say?" Joe asked.

"She didn't say anything; she just went into the house. I asked Nadine if she needed anything for her mother and she said no. And I told her, I'd check on them later."

"Did you?" asked Bill.

"Yes….I went over to the house and knocked on the door. When no one answered, I opened the door and called Ginny's name. Still no answer. I then called Nadine's name. I could hear a radio or phonograph playing rock 'n' roll music upstairs. No wonder no one heard me. I thought this was odd, because if Ginny didn't feel well, I thought Nadine should be more considerate and quiet, so her mother could rest. I went in to see if everything was fine."

"What did the inside of the house look like?" asked Joe.

"Well, the first thing I noticed was that it was so dark…all the shades were drawn. I then noticed their large Oriental rug in the living room was missing and the furniture in the living room had been moved. I thought this was strange. Maybe they were robbed. I don't know. I went to the phone table in the front hallway to call my daughter. Maybe she knew something about all of this, since she was there over the weekend. Only when I picked up the receiver, there was no dial tone. The phone was dead."

"Have they had trouble paying bills in the past?" asked Bill.

"Not that I know of," Mrs. Barton replied.

"Ginny's husband died last year of cancer. But she hasn't mentioned anything about financial troubles. When I went to use the extension in the kitchen, that phone worked fine. I didn't call anyone though. I finally decided to come and tell you."

"We thank you for your information, Ma'am," said Joe.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Mrs. Barton continued. "Ginny did tell me that someone was interested in the house. They were supposed to come by and look at it. I wonder if they did. You see, Ginny and her daughter were going to move to Portland, Oregon. There's a _For Sale_ sign on their front lawn. Do you think maybe that might help you?"

"It could, but we have some information for you," replied Joe. "Mrs. Barton, yesterday a body was found in an Oriental rug," said Joe.

"Oh my…." She whispered.

"We don't have any identification. Would you be willing to see if you can identify the woman for us?"

Mrs. Barton covered her mouth with her hand. Slowly, she moved her hand away from her mouth and quietly said, "yes."

Joe called the coroner to see if he was available. The coroner had some news for them. The blood on the dress was human blood and it was the same blood type. Joe explained about Mrs. Barton coming in this afternoon and within minutes they were out the door.

Mrs. Barton let out an alarming gasp as the sheet was lifted. All she could do was nod as the tears streamed down her face. After she settled down, they showed her the dress and she identified it as one of Nadine's dresses. Mrs. Barton began to cry again.

"Why? Why? She was such a nice woman. Why would anyone do this to her?" she said.

"That's what we're trying to find out," said Joe.

Back in the car, Joe explained that they had to interview Gail about this past weekend. Mrs. Barton agreed and they drove over to her house. Once inside, Mrs. Barton called for her daughter to come downstairs. They sat in the living room and waited for her.

"I don't know what's taking her so long," she said. "But you know how teenagers can be."

"Yes," said Bill. "I have four boys, all in their teens. They think they know everything."

"Oh, tell me about it," she replied. "Do you have any children, Sergeant Friday?"

"No, Ma'am. I'm not married."

"At least us older folks still have some morals. I don't know what's gotten into people these days. It's so hard to raise children nowadays with all the chaos, and drugs floating around. Everyone thinks so highly of the Pill, people have no sense of value anymore. The wrong messages are being sent out."

The two men just nodded. After a few moments of awkward silence, Mrs. Barton got up and left the room. They heard her as she traipsed up the steps. Joe sighed.

"Say Joe, how are you and Gracie doing these days?" asked Bill.

"Just fine, Bill, just fine," he replied.

"Have you seen her lately?"

"Yes."

"Well, when?"

"Last night, last night," said Joe, getting irritated.

"What did you do?"

"_What?!_"

"I said, what did you—"

"I _heard_ what you said!"

"But then why—"

"We had dinner."

"Is that all?"

"Bill! I don't go asking what you and Eileen do each night!"

"I mean, did you see a movie or go bowling or something. What were _you_ thinking?"

Another few seconds of an uncomfortable silence passed, and then Bill spoke with a chuckle in his voice, "Your face is red."

"It is _not_! It's just too warm in here, that's all."

"I'm sure last night was nice too," said Bill, snickering.

"Oh, shut up!" Joe hissed.

Joe could not look him in the eye. He knew he was blushing. Shaking his head, he hoped to dissipate any thoughts about Gracie for the rest of the day. It wasn't _his_ fault, after all _Bill_ started it.

The room fell silent as they strained to listen for anything upstairs. Just then, footsteps began to trample down the stairs. A second pair followed. Gail Barton loomed behind her mother. Mrs. Barton gently nudged her, so that she stood in front instead. The tall, yet lanky girl wore a pink and white baby doll dress. In her hands, she clutched a white diary. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was parted down the middle and placed into two low pigtails. The thick, horn-rimmed glasses framed her face.

"My daughter was writing in her diary. She's always doing that these days. Gail, these men want to ask you some questions about this past weekend."

The girl didn't say a word as she went over and sat in the arm chair across from Joe and Bill.

"Gail, when did you go over to Nadine's house?" asked Joe.

"On Saturday," she responded with her voice low and almost a whisper.

"Did you see Mrs. Wilcox on Saturday?"

"Yes."

"What was she doing?"

"She made us dinner after my mother and her played bridge. My mother didn't stay. She went home."

Mrs. Barton nodded in agreement. "I told my daughter she could spend the night that night with Nadine. Ginny said it was fine, too."

"Did you see Mrs. Wilcox after dinner, Gail?" asked Bill.

"Yes, but she went out."

"Where did she go?" Joe asked.

"On a date."

"When did she get home?" asked Bill.

"I don't know."

"Did you see her on Sunday?" asked Joe.

"Yes, but only briefly. She went out again."

"Do you have any idea who she went out with?"

"No. She goes out with a lot of men."

"That's not true!" cried Mrs. Barton.

"Oh, Mother it is! Everyone in the neighborhood knows, except you."

"What do you write about in your diary?" asked Joe, as he pointed to Gail's diary, laying in her lap.

"I don't think that's any of your business."

"You did bring it down here with you, did you not?" he replied.

"Yes, but my mother said I had to."

"Gail, please! What they want to know is did you write anything about this past weekend?"

"Well, sure. I write in it everyday."

"Do you mind if we see it?" asked Joe.

"I'll read it to you," she sighed as she opened to a page and began reading.

_"Saturday, April eighth, nineteen sixty-seven. _ _I went over to Nadine's today. I'm going to spend the night. Her mother is going out on another date and Nadine didn't want to be alone. Sometimes her mother doesn't come home at all and she hates waking up to an empty house."_

"Is that all you want to me to read?" Nadine asked when she finished.

"Read Sunday's entry," said Joe.

"Okay," she said, as she turned the page and began to read once again.

_"Sunday, April nineth, nineteen sixty-seven. _ _We both woke up this morning to see if Nadine's mother was home. She wasn't. We peeked in her room and her bed had not been slept in. This is nothing odd. She does this often. We don't know when she'll return. After breakfast, Nadine and I did our homework and I helped her study for a test she has on Monday. Then, we listened to some records and watched TV. I had dinner at Nadine's and then came home. It's late now; I think I'll go to bed."_

Joe watched carefully as Gail shut her diary. He noticed that as she was reading, her face looked flushed. He and Bill both knew she had been lying.

"So, you didn't see Mrs. Wilcox on Sunday, like you just told us a few minutes ago," said Joe.

"Well I…thought I had…but I just remembered after I read that entry," said Gail.

"I see," replied Joe.

"Gail, tell these men the truth," Mrs. Barton said.

"I did. Okay, so I didn't see Mrs. Wilcox on Sunday. She was out on her date still."

"Gail, a body was found yesterday, along with a young girl's dress. The body was identified as Mrs. Wilcox," Joe said, staring at her while speaking, hoping for a reaction of some sort.

"I told you she went out," Gail said more softly this time.

"I identified that dress as Nadine's," said Mrs. Barton. Gail's eyes grew wide. Her mother went on, "You have some explaining to do, right now."

"I can't tell you," she said, as a lonely tear began to trickle down her face.

"You have to. You and Nadine are in serious trouble, do you understand that?" said Joe.

"I can't tell you," she repeated. "But let me get something that will."

She started to get up and leave the room. Everyone began to follow her. She did not like this as she suddenly whipped around to face them.

"You don't have to follow me, I know what I'm supposed to get," said Gail.

"You're a suspect for murder—" retorted Joe.

"But I didn't do anything!"

"We'll see about that," said Joe. "Go on now, get what you need. We'll be right behind you."

The five of them trudged up the stairs, went single-file down the hall, and crowded into Gail's room, as she went to her bureau drawer and produced an identical white diary. She handed it to Joe.

"This'll tell you everything," she said.

For the rest of the afternoon at Parker Center, they poured over both of Gail's diaries. At first, Gail didn't want to give them the one diary, the one she read in the living room, but she reluctantly obeyed and handed it over.

As they read on, they soon realized that one diary was a "fake," a total lie to cover up what really happened to Mrs. Wilcox. Bill had read this one. The one Joe went through told the truth, in graphic detail. Joe learned that these two friends were inseparable and as time went on Mrs. Wilcox began to worry about them spending so much time together.

As the pages flew by, Joe noticed the writing became more eerie and violent. When something didn't go the way they wanted it to, they would plot about what they would do to a particular person who got in their way.

For instance, in one entry, it looked like Nadine had gotten bad grades on a few tests. Her schoolwork continued to suffer and Gail wrote how every teacher seemed to dislike Nadine. Teachers continued to tell the girl how important it was to raise her grades and do well in school. This annoyed Nadine to no end and she would tell Gail who would write later on about what she would do to them. It appeared as though when Nadine wasn't around, Gail wrote down every true word, yet she'd agree with her friend. It always involved killing someone in such a gruesome way and then disposing of the body, so no one would find out. The same went for friends at school. If one betrayed them or any in their group, an entire plan was drawn out. Gail even mentioned that Nadine recently had a boyfriend named Bobby Rhodes. The ways these girls would write about harming others were so atrocious and very disturbing.

Of course, none of these actions were acted out, that is until Joe began to read about Mrs. Wilcox and how she suddenly became an interfering obstacle in the girls' lives. She didn't care for Nadine's boyfriend or Gail. Why didn't Nadine go to the school dances and meet others? All she wanted to do was be with Gail or Bobby.

They shared notes about various entries from both diaries. Both wondered how long they thought they could get away with murder—as the saying goes. What Joe did know was that these two girls needed serious help before they had an urge to strike again on some poor innocent soul like Mrs. Wilcox, Mrs. Barton or perhaps Bobby Rhodes. From what Joe had read, Bobby had been seen with another girl at school and Nadine did not like that.

Copyright © 2010 by Kristi N. Zanker


	4. Chapter 4

The Big Telephone

(A _Dragnet_ Fan Fiction Story)

By: Kristi N. Zanker

Disclaimer: All publicly recognized characters, settings, etc. are the property of Mark VII Limited and Universal. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. I, in no way am associated with the owners, creators, or producers of _Dragnet_. No copyright infringement is intended.

Warning: This chapter contains some language, sexual situations, and adult themes. It is not suitable for children.

Chapter Four

Around three that afternoon, Joe found what he was looking for. First, he skimmed the entry and others after it. He then read aloud every entry that dealt with Mrs. Wilcox's last hours of her life and the aftermath.

"'Saturday, April ninth, nineteen-sixty-seven,"' Joe began to read Gail's diary entry.

_"'Nadine has tomorrow all planned out. She told me about it this afternoon. It is after midnight as I write this. Tomorrow evening, after dinner, is when it will take place. Nadine made up her mind to go through with it a few days ago. She really doesn't want her mother to sell the house and move to Portland, Oregon. We would hate to be separated—Nadine and I. No one has a friendship like ours, one that will last forever. The thought of being away from Nadine just frightens me. She kept saying we would get rid of the problem as soon as we came up with a decent plan. And here it is…'" _

Joe continued to read as the senseless murder unfolded before their eyes. He had dealt with similar cases like this in the past. Back in 1951, he remembered a teenage girl who stabbed her mother to death. For "practice" the girl had bought two canaries, killed them using the same knife she eventually used on her mother, and then buried the birds in her backyard. Reading this entry reminded him of another case that had happened in 1954. Only this one occurred in New Zealand and not the United States. Two teenage girls had an obsessive friendship, thus worrying the parents. When threatened to be separated, one of the girls planned to do away with her mother. Like with this case, the girl wrote it down in her diary, every detail of what they were going to do.

Other co-workers and even Bill would tease Joe, giving him the name "Old Stone Face" due to the fact that he showed little or no emotion to anything. Of course, this was not true, he surely had emotions, he just didn't feel like showing them in front of everyone. An occasional slip of anger now and then at a criminal, but cases like this one, Joe knew he'd be thinking about it for days—long after it was closed in their files.

Both Joe and Bill knew that this would not be enough evidence in court, even though everything was written out. They needed a statement from Nadine herself, admitting what had happened. They even wondered if she knew that Gail kept two diaries. But before they could talk with Nadine, they wanted to question Bobby Rhodes first.

Joe phoned Mrs. Barton and asked if she knew Bobby. She said she saw him around often at Nadine's, but didn't know where he lived. She set the phone down and went to ask Gail if she knew Bobby's phone number or where he lived. A few minutes later, Mrs. Barton came back to the phone and provided the address and phone number. Joe thanked her and said they were still checking on a few things, but would let her know if anything else came up. He didn't want to give too much information, from what they discovered in the other diary, at least not now.

When he hung up the phone, Joe immediately dialed the number given by Mrs. Barton. The phone only rang and rang. He slammed the receiver in its cradle, and told Bill that they would have to try again tomorrow.

The traffic wasn't too bad for a Tuesday evening. Joe couldn't stop thinking about the diary entries he read earlier today. What made people get that way? Gail seemed to come from a good home, but that doesn't seem to mean anything these days anymore. He wondered what Bobby would tell them tomorrow, if they were able to talk to him. Joe hoped the radio would drown out the thoughts about the case and help his mind relax and focus on other things.

An old song played now. Joe recognized it right away. It was called "Two Sleepy People." It had a long introductory instrumental, like the songs did back then, for when people went dancing…_real _dancing. Not like what young people did today, standing so far apart that you didn't know who your partner was. And the moves as well as the names of the current dances were equally ridiculous, according to Joe. Once he came across a show on TV that had a rock 'n' roll group performing as go-go dancers shimmied, jerked, or whatever the latest craze was called, around the stage. It seemed as though every program had that now. Yes, they were beautiful girls, but were they okay after they moved like that for three minutes straight? It looked as if they were having convulsions or something.

Eventually, the man and woman in "Two Sleepy People" began to sing. As Joe listened to the lover's song, a picture conjured in his mind, as it always had when he heard this song. A man sat in a chair with his bride on his lap, but gazing into each other's eyes. Only this time, it wasn't just any man and woman, Joe could see their faces—his and Gracie's.

He was only in the apartment for about five minutes when a knock sounded at the door. Joe opened it and found Gracie standing there. He smiled as he let her in, shutting the door behind her. They barely said "Hello" to one another, when their arms enfolded around each other and the kissing couldn't be stopped. That is, until the telephone rang.

"Don't answer it," said Gracie.

"I have to," he murmured into her hair, and gently kissed her neck. "But I think I know who it is." They slowly waltzed over to the telephone table.

It had to be Walter Scovel, a neighbor who lived in the building who constantly called Joe everyday when he came home from work. He would always ramble on about suspicious characters in the building or tell Joe about something odd he saw that day. He had heart troubles, was a lonely, retired man who had nothing better to do than to call the only police officer in the building and give him "tips" on possible suspects.

Joe untangled himself from Gracie's grasp and picked up the receiver on the sixth ring.

"Hi, Walter!" he said cheerfully.

He stood silent for a few minutes as Walter rattled on about the findings of that day. While the man continued to talk on the other end, Joe put his hand over the mouthpiece and turned to Gracie, who stood right next to him.

"Go get me a carton of cigarettes. I forgot to pick some up on the way home today," he told her quietly, just in case Walter could hear anything.

He reached into his pocket and gave her three dollars and some change.

"Don't worry, I'll get rid of him by the time you get back," he said as she nodded and went out the door.

This was partly true. He had bought two packs of _Chesterfields _ from the machine this morning, thinking he'd stop on his way home. But with the day's events, the discovery of the two diaries, reading the entries in each, and then the song on the radio, he had completely forgotten. Still, he wasn't quite sure if he could get Walter off the phone in time before Gracie got back.

Walter went on to explain that he heard a loud party down the hall from his apartment the night before. To him, it sounded like a bunch of kids carousing around and he had a gut feeling that there were drugs at that party. He asked if Joe could arrest them. Joe calmly explained the reasons he couldn't arrest people just because they were having a loud party, considering it was before curfew hours and Walter really didn't know if there were drugs at that party.

In the middle of his explanation, Joe heard the door shut quietly and knew Gracie was back. Walter kept going on about the party down the hall, when Joe felt Gracie's arms slide around his waist. Her hands traveled lower and that really got his attention. He winced and in the best nonchalant voice he could muster, with her hands all over him, he told Walter he had to go because something was burning on the stove. Walter then asked if he should call the fire department.

"No!" Joe said, more animatedly than he intended to. He gently pushed Gracie's hands away for a second as he tried to get Walter off the phone.

"I mean, no Walter, don't call the fire department. A fire hasn't happened yet. But if I don't get off the phone, there could be trouble." _In more ways than one,_ he thought to himself. _Finally_, the man on the other end said goodbye. Joe replaced the receiver in the cradle and turned to Gracie, who only smiled at him.

"I thought he'd never get off the phone," said Joe.

"I have a surprise for you," she said, holding up a small brown paper bag.

With the leftover change, Gracie had stopped off at Rachell's Candies. Holding out a handful of assorted chocolate candies in her hand, she playfully ran throughout the living room, with Joe close behind. His laughter and her shrieking amusement filled the room, as they dodged one another, until he finally grabbed her waist, lifted her up, spun her around, and then fell onto the couch. The laughter was constant, only silenced when Joe fed Gracie a chocolate almond and she did the same by feeding him one. For the next few minutes, she sat on Joe's lap; as each fed the other several chocolate covered almonds.

Before they knew it, the bag of chocolate was empty and kissing resumed. Like last night, his hands roamed, while Gracie reacted to his touch. He didn't know how much time had gone by, a half hour, a few minutes, only seconds? But every part of him was enjoying these moments. They murmured to one another softly as the lovemaking continued—with Gracie still on his lap, this time sitting astride, allowing her foot to touch the floor to keep her balance. She stared right at him, while his hands pressed against her hips, with hers on his shoulders keeping herself steady, moving along with the rhythm, mixed in with their groans and sighs. An occasional cry would rupture when climaxing occurred by one, then the other. When it was over, he lay with his head back on the couch, holding Gracie to him, aimlessly running his fingers through her hair. As their breathing returned to normal, he couldn't help but wonder in his mind, _would we ever make it to the bedroom? _

Joe wasn't used to this. Every time he moved, he felt Gracie next to him. He didn't want to wake her up. _Yes, we finally made it to bed, only to sleep however,_ Joe thought. Both of them had work the next day and playtime was over.

After the fun in the living room, they went out to dinner. On the way back, the two of them stopped off at Gracie's apartment on the first floor, while Joe watched her pack a small overnight bag. As he stood there and even now, as he lay in the darkened room, he still wondered if this was too soon for them to spend the night together. Sometimes, he wished he wasn't so damned serious, but did he want to spend the rest of his life always doing what was considered right? Both of them were certainly adults and knew how to handle things maturely. _To hell with my conscience!_ His mind screamed. _We're both happy and that's all that matters… I wish I was on vacation with Gracie. We'd have so much time together. We'd get some sleep then. Sleep! Forget it! _

Like the other night, he couldn't get to sleep. So many things whirled in his mind. _When this case is over…I hope I can get my second week back._ Gracie had two vacation days this week and the weekend. _We'd have so much time together… Oh, if Gracie and I were married…she would always be there. She wouldn't work anymore. I wouldn't come home to an empty apartment everyday…I'm forty-seven and she's thirty-seven, it's about time we can enjoy ourselves… _Joe rolled over and tenderly circled his arms around Gracie's waist. He listened for a moment. All he heard was her placid breathing and the ticking of the alarm clock subtracting valuable minutes of the night.

Sleep eventually came until the alarm clock jangled, waking both of them up. Joe still had that wonderful, happy, being-in-love feeling that he couldn't quite figure out or honestly admit to until the wee hours of this morning. Joe told Gracie that he had trouble falling asleep and she admitted the same.

He got up and made coffee while Gracie got ready for work. She made breakfast for the both of them while Joe showered and got dressed. He stood at the entryway into the kitchen, leaning against the wall, watching her at the stove. Suddenly, he didn't want this morning to end, he wanted time to freeze, but of course he knew better. Striding over to her, he put his arms around her and kissed her cheek, trailing his lips down to her neck. She turned around and he kissed her hard, inviting his tongue into her mouth, sweeping it everywhere possible.

"We don't have time, honey," she said, her voice husky, when they broke apart.

"I know, I know," he sighed. "But dammit, I wish we did. I'm wishing a lot of things right now."

"Your breakfast is going to burn."

"Not that."

He kissed her one more time before sitting down at the table. They ate their breakfast in silence, both knowing their time together was limited. Joe walked Gracie to her car—an adobe beige 1962 Corvair. He held the door for her as she got in and then shut it. When she turned the key, the car wouldn't start. She tried again with no avail.

"Don't worry, honey, I'll take you to work," Joe said, after he opened the door and helped her out.

Inside, he was so glad that they would have a few more minutes together. They walked arm in arm to his car. _Maybe an accident would occur on the freeway, just look at all the time we'd have together then!_ He thought to himself. _Oh, shut up!_ The stupid things love did to one's mind.

"Thank you for taking me to work. This is so nice. Spending this extra time together," she said, grinning. "I hope you'll be able to pick me up."

"Me too, sweetheart. I hope today is not an overtime day. We sometimes don't know that until the last minute. But I'll let you know."

Joe opened the passenger side door for Gracie and then closed it once she was inside. He strolled around the front of the car and got in on the driver's side. His car obeyed when the key turned. The radio played softly—the old songs again. Those old songs always put him in a mood. They were so romantic, always had him thinking about different things. Gracie slid over and snuggled against him. _She must be thinking the same things I am right now,_ he thought. Her hand rested on his knee and then slowly moved up and down his leg, inching closer to his belt each time.

"Don't do that, honey, you'll cause me to have an accident," he said, chuckling, placing his hand over hers and moving it into her lap. His fingers then wiggled underneath her skirt a little and Gracie gasped.

"Joe!"

"See what I mean? There should be a law about driving with pretty women like yourself, why just look at what they do to us men."

Gracie laughed, but soon stopped when they pulled into the parking lot of where she worked. Joe parked the car and turned to her. They kissed as if Joe were leaving for war that very afternoon. When they came up for air, he told her again that he'd do his best to be there for her when the work day was over.

"I better not see anyone else's lipstick on your face," she said beaming, pointing at the pink smudges in his mouth.

"Oh God, I can only imagine what they'd say, especially Bill," he muttered, chuckling as he pulled out a handkerchief.

He peeked in the rearview mirror and removed the evidence, while Gracie retrieved a small, gold cylinder tube from her purse and reapplied the makeup to her lips, double-checking her appearance in her compact mirror.

They were about to kiss again, when suddenly remembering the pink smeared handkerchief. Instead, Joe gave Gracie a peck on the cheek, and a hug. She then opened the car door. He watched as she walked through the door of the insurance company, then started the motor and pulled out of the parking space.

About a half hour later, Joe and Bill found themselves walking into Throckmorton High School where Bobby, Nadine, and Gail attended classes. They told the secretary who they were, and met with the principal who then went to summon Bobby out of class. They waited in the principal's empty office.

Ten minutes went by and a boy walked in alone, wearing brown slacks, and a yellow button-down shirt. His light brown hair, neatly combed, was parted off to the side, leaving a long swooping ridge that covered most of his forehead.

"They said you two guys wanted to see me?" the boy asked.

"Is your name Bobby Rhodes?" asked Joe, who motioned for the boy to sit down.

"Yes, it is," he said, sitting in a chair across from them.

"We're police officers. This is my partner, Officer Bill Gannon and I'm Sergeant Joe Friday," said Joe, placing his badge back into his pocket. "We wanted to ask you about Nadine Wilcox. How long have you known her?"

"I've known her since my first year in high school. We're both juniors now."

"Are you in any of the same classes as Nadine?" Bill asked.

"No, but we have lunch in the cafeteria together. That is, me, Nadine, and Gail. But Nadine and I aren't as close as we were."

"How do you mean?" asked Joe.

"We used to go out a lot, just the two of us. She didn't like hanging around large crowds, so we stayed away from parties. She wasn't invited anyway, neither was Gail. There was something odd about their friendship. It was like they didn't have any other friends besides each other. Gail would constantly write in this diary of hers. I'd see her bring it to school everyday."

"Did she ever tell you what she wrote about?"

"No, not really. But she made strange comments. I remember one time she told me that Miss Hanover, an English teacher didn't like Nadine's paper. I asked Gail why and she said because it was too violent. I guess the teacher didn't like what happened to the characters in the story. Gail just shrugged and told me that they were learning how to write like Edgar Allen Poe. That was their assignment. Anyway, Nadine and I are just friends. I have another girlfriend now. Nadine knows about that."

"I see," said Joe, looking over at Bill, who wrote ferociously in his small notebook.

"When was the last time you saw Nadine?" asked Bill, who looked up after writing.

"I saw her yesterday at lunch. She wants me to come over to her house and help her move some furniture."

Joe then explained the entire situation to Bobby, about Gail's two diaries, the contents in both of them and discovering Mrs. Wilcox's body. He then told him of their plan of how they could get over there and confront Nadine herself. The boy who sat across from them now looked stunned and pale.

"I don't know if I can do that, Sergeant Friday," he said. "After…after what she did to….I don't think…oh man…"

"You have to, son. This afternoon, you go over there like you never saw us today. Help her move the furniture. Start to ask questions. Someone who does what she did can't keep it inside forever. I'll bet she's dying to tell someone."

"How do you know she will?"

"She'll say something; enough to get her talking…some people are like that when they've committed such a crime. I've seen it before. Part of them wants to brag about it because they think they got away with it," said Joe.

"Well…okay. I'll do what I can to help. I can't believe she…I think I can get there before she even gets home," Bobby said. "She always keeps a key a under the mat by the front door."

"Okay, you let yourself in after school's out. We'll already be there. You let us in and we'll hide somewhere in the house. You leave the house, lock the door, and wait for her," said Joe.

"Oh God, I'm so nervous. I don't think I can do it…," said Bobby.

"You don't want her to strike again, do you?" asked Joe.

"No, of course not!"

"Then, you'll do fine. You're not the one who committed the crime."

The boy was silent for a moment and then spoke.

"This would explain a lot though, about her strange behavior, I mean."

Another moment of silence passed and then Bobby spoke again. "I guess she won't be moving after all."

"How's that?" asked Joe.

"To Oregon. She told me she was moving to Oregon soon. I guess that won't happen now since, well, you know," Bobby said.

"Oh, she'll still be moving," he replied.

"Where?"

"Downtown, depending on what the judge says."

Copyright © 2010 by Kristi N. Zanker


	5. Chapter 5

The Big Telephone

(A _Dragnet_ Fan Fiction Story)

By: Kristi N. Zanker

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognized characters, settings, etc. are the property of Mark VII Limited and Universal. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. I, in no way am associated with the owners, creators, or producers of _Dragnet_. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Warning:** This chapter contains some language, and disturbing themes. It is not suitable for children.

Chapter Five

At two-thirty that afternoon, Joe, Bill, and policewoman Dorothy Miller parked down the street and walked over to Mrs. Barton's house. When she answered the door, they filled her in on what was going to happen in the next half hour or so. They reminded her not to let Gail or anyone else know they were next door.

Fifteen minutes later, the three of them waited on the patio in the back of Nadine's house. Every few seconds, Joe would peek in the window to see if Bobby had arrived to let himself in.

Just as Mrs. Barton had described the other day, the house was dark. Luckily, the curtain to the sliding door had not been pulled, as Joe could see the cream and yellow paisley pattern pushed to one side. He noticed that the shades were drawn in the living room, but three rays of light streamed in from the small teardrop shaped windows on the front door. Each window appeared as a stair step, one "drop" following the other up or down. The three lit "drops" illuminated on the linoleum floor in the hallway that led to the kitchen.

The kitchen was very modern with its avocado refrigerator and matching stove. A lonely white coffee pot with a blue geometric design sat on a burner. For an instant, Joe wondered if any coffee still remained in the pot, no longer warm, of course, but bitter. Dishes were piled in the sink. Anymore tossed in there, he wasn't sure if the steadily growing heap would hold. Nadine certainly hadn't kept up with the housework. He turned away from the window for a minute.

They briefed Dorothy Miller about Nadine and Bobby and the plan again, making sure everyone understood what to do. When Joe turned around to peer through the window again, he saw Bobby coming toward him. He watched as the boy unlocked the door, removed the broom handle that prevented the door from sliding, and finally opened the it for them.

They all stepped inside. A heavy staleness hung in the air. The three of them quickly glanced around for hiding places. Dorothy Miller hid in the pantry that stood next to the dining room entryway, while Joe and Bill found the hall closet that sat diagonally from the front door, yet right next to the living room, that led directly into the dining room. Joe told Dorothy not to come out of the pantry until he and Bill confronted Nadine. When they opened the hall closet, a barrage of coats, empty hangers, small boxes and papers came tumbling out.

"Will you look at that!? We're going to hide in Fibber McGee's closet! And I thought I'd seen everything," Bill remarked, as Joe gave him a stern look.

"Help me pick this up!" he hissed in a tone that read this was no time for jokes. "All of this and _us_ has to fit in here!"

"Do you want me to help you with that?" asked Bobby.

The voice of the teenager startled Joe for a second, who nearly forgot he was even there since he had been so quiet. The boy stood there looking confused and nervous. For a moment, Joe wanted to shake the kid. He hoped that everything would go as smooth as possible.

"No, Bobby," he said, keeping his voice as calm as he could. "Just go outside and wait for Nadine. We'll be okay here. You know what to do, right?"

"Yeah, I think so," he said, and turned, locked the door behind him and stood outside.

Joe shook his head and he and Bill began gathering up the debris as quickly as they could, shoving it as far back into the closet as it could go. When the last item was tossed in, both of them managed to squeeze into the tiny space and close the door, only leaving it open a hairline crack, so that they could hear what was going on.

"There's a wire hanger digging into my back!" said Bill. "And the mothballs are making me dizzy."

"There are hangers everywhere, just try to sit still!" said Joe, trying to pry away a wire hanger that was jabbing into his ribs. When he succeeded, he smashed it against the wall. The noise was deafening. "Quiet! I think I hear something…" he hissed.

"I'm not the one who—" Bill began to say, but the turn of the lock in the front door ceased his retort. They froze listening to everything that unraveled in front of them.

"What do you want moved?" asked Bobby, when the two kids entered the house.

"I want this coffee table moved over here," said Nadine, her voice trailing away into the living room. "Help me lift it up…ready? On three. One…two…three!"

Joe and Bill listened as they picked up the table and heard the clunk as it hit the wooden floor.

"Careful! That's a glass top!" Nadine said.

"It looks like someone wasn't careful. There's a piece broken off on the corner," said Bobby."

Yeah, so there is. Let's move this sofa back against the wall," said Nadine.

No one spoke for a few seconds as they lifted the couch.

"Say, wasn't there a rug here before?" said Bobby.

Suddenly, Bill and Joe heard a loud thud as someone dropped their side of the couch.

"My hand slipped," said Nadine, as they finished moving it to the wall.

"What else do you want moved?" asked Bobby.

"That chair."

"Okay…hey, look what I found!"

"Just move the chair. There's nothing there."

"Yes, there is. I found this."

"What? A button? So what?"

"Sew buttons!" laughed Bobby.

"You're such a moron!"

"Well, is it yours or your moth—"

"It's just a goddamn button!"

"There's no need to get all upset. I didn't mean anything. Say, is your mother alright? Has she been sick?"

"No," Nadine's voice caught. "She's out again on one of her dates. She hasn't been back in several days."

"Well, what have you been doing? Oh, never mind. I'll go call my mother. Maybe you can come over for dinner tonight. I'll ask her."

Joe and Bill heard Bobby's footsteps as they passed the closet door. Suddenly, Nadine's were right behind his.

"Gimme that phone!" she screamed. "It doesn't work!"

"Hey! What's gotten into you?"

"Let go of that phone!" Nadine screamed as tears streamed down her face.

"Of course it doesn't work. It's not plugged in. Here I'll—"

"_No! It's dead…she's dead. Give me that phone!"_

Joe threw open the closet door. Not only did he and Bill nearly fall out, but so did the excessive contents behind them.

"Alright, Fibber McGee!" said Joe showing his badge, as an alarmed look grew across Nadine's face. "Didn't you say you were going to clean out this closet one of these days?"

Suddenly, the mention of the once popular radio program in their teenage years came in handy.

"Huh?" said Bobby. Nadine just stared at them with a hard look.

"Police officers, get your hands where I can see them! _Now!"_ said Joe.

"What are you doing here?" asked Nadine.

"I think you know," said Joe. "You're under arrest for the murder of your mother, Mrs. Virginia Wilcox."

Nadine was stunned for a moment as Bill placed the handcuffs on her and then read the back of his notebook, which stated the Miranda Rights. Joe saw policewoman Dorothy Miller appear in the hallway behind Bobby.

"Do you understand your rights, Miss Wilcox?" asked Bill.

"Sure. A lawyer?" she snorted. "Are you kidding me? I don't need any goddamned lawyer. I didn't do anything."

Next, she screamed and cursed at Bill and Joe, saying how the "fucking fuzz" could not search her. Nothing you say will sway us, we've heard it all, Joe thought. Joe watched as she peered at them. The girl was hoping and waiting for some kind of reaction. But she didn't get one.

"No, but this one will," Joe retorted, as policewoman Dorothy Miller walked toward her.

After she frisked Nadine, she reported that the girl was clean. Joe told Dorothy to take her out to the car and that they would be there in a minute.

As the three of them were leaving the house, Joe turned and thanked Bobby for his cooperation.

"What's going to happen to her now?" he asked.

"It's not up to us, it's up to the court."

The boy nodded in agreement and then left. Bill took the phone with them for evidence.

One last thing Joe wanted to check was Mrs. Wilcox's bedroom. He opened the door and saw that the bed was neatly made…only one pillow had a clean pastel yellow case on it.

An image of Mrs. Wilcox flashed through Joe's mind. The last time anyone had seen her was with the soiled yellow pillowcase over her head. He closed the door behind him and then followed Bill outside. They looked over at the _For Sale_ sign in the front yard.

"Someone will have to do something about that sign," said Bill.

"Yeah, it's going to be there for awhile," said Joe, lighting up a cigarette.

Joe unlocked the door and turned over the sign so that it read "Interview in Progress." He watched as policewoman Dorothy Miller led Nadine Wilcox down the hall with Bill behind them.

Joe observed as Nadine neared the interrogation room. Her light brown hair was pushed back with a white headband where a small bow peeked out off to the left side. After the aggressive ordeal at the house, several loose strands of hair had escaped and covered her face as she slouched with each step. Her once well-groomed flip had lost its zest and her paisley purple and white mini-dress hung limp on her. But the first thing he noticed was that she was shorter and stockier than Gail had been. The ride to Parker Center had been surprisingly silent and it continued as they all filed into the room.

"Sit down here," he said to Nadine, pointing to a chair as she walked passed him.

"Can't you take these things off me now?" she protested, as she slumped into the chair.

Policewoman Dorothy Miller sat next to Nadine and the two men sat across from her. Bill placed the phone on another table in the room. The diaries sat in a bag, next to the phone.

"Come on, man, these things—" she stated.

Joe flung the key to Dorothy across the table. She removed the handcuffs and Nadine instantly rubbed her wrists, while still slumped in the chair. Dorothy gave the key back to Joe, who never took an eye off of Nadine. She sat there and mumbled something under her breath.

"What was that?" Joe asked.

"Nothing," replied Nadine.

"Sit up and look at me when I'm talking to you!"

The girl's head rose slightly and her eyes grew wide and at the sternness of Joe's voice.

"Now, what did you say?" Joe repeated.

"I said it's about time you got those off."

"That's what I thought."

"Then why did you—"

"I'll ask the questions!" he snapped. "You may have gotten away with certain things with your mother, but it's not going to happen with me. Let's talk about your mother, shall we? When did you last see her?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do. Tell me when you last saw her….dead. You last saw her dead, is that right?"

The girl nodded slowly.

"And where did you see her?" he continued.

"In a garbage can," she said softly.

"Now, you start from the beginning and tell us the whole story; how you murdered your mother."

"It wasn't just me, it was—"

"Just tell it!"

Nadine began to speak and the tears began to spill. They all ignored her emotions and listened.

"Gail and I…we had a sleepover on Saturday night. My mother didn't go out at all. My mother wasn't seeing anyone. Well, she didn't like me being with Gail all of the time. We've been best friends since first grade. We understood one another…shared everything, every secret with the other. The other kids at school were so—so childish and stupid. All they cared about was school assemblies, dances, or football games. We didn't care about that stuff. I liked to write stories and no one would ever understand them. Other kids would say they were too frightening. Well, they're just a bunch of cowards, that's all. Gail always wrote in a diary. She'd tell me everything that she wrote."

"And what about your mother?" asked Joe.

"My mother wanted me to go to dances and parties, but I didn't want to do any of that. I liked to pal around with Nadine and Bobby too. Well, as usual my mother was giving me a hard time about school. My grades were slipping, but she kept nagging me about how important school was and how it was better to have many friends than just one friend all the time. As a joke, Gail and I would talk about the people we didn't like and others that gave us a hard time. We'd say what we'd do to them, hurt them and kill them if they really hated us. It was all in fun, of course. I never planned to kill my mother, it just happened.

"It happened on Sunday morning. It was after breakfast. Gail and I were in the kitchen and my mother went in the living room to turn on the hi-fi. Gail then went upstairs to get dressed. My mother came back into the kitchen and reprimanded me about a test I had failed and how my grade was slipping more in some class. She told me, she didn't know what she was going to do with me. She wished my father were here.

"I told her to mind her own business and to leave me alone about school. Then, she started on about Gail again and told me that someone was coming to look at the house that afternoon. She said they were interested in buying it and that I should clean my room so that it looked nice when they came to see it. My mother walked toward the living room. I was so angry; I got up and followed her. I eyed the telephone on the table and picked it up. My mother couldn't hear me; the hi-fi was on too loud. I took the base of the phone and got a few inches from her and bashed it against her head. I kept hitting and beating her. I heard Gail run back downstairs. She was screaming and so was I."

By now, the girl was crying a lot and policewoman Dorothy Miller had given her a handkerchief to dab her eyes. She didn't look like the tough girl back at the house anymore. At that same time, Joe got up and showed Nadine the telephone. When she saw it, she confessed that it was the murder weapon.

"What happened after that?" asked Joe, as he sat back down at the table.

"I—I told Gail to get something to cover her head with. Gail was crying too. She ran off and came back with one of my mother's pillowcases. I covered her head with it. Then, we moved the furniture and wrapped her body in the Oriental rug. That night, before Gail went home, we put her in the garbage can outside. We hoped the garbage men would take her and the other trash away on Monday morning. Before we left for school the next day, I peeked out and the cans were empty. I thought everything was okay. She wasn't there to nag me anymore and we were not going to move to Oregon. Gail and I could still be friends."

"What about the people that came to see your house?" asked Bill. "Weren't they suspicious of anything?"

"No, when I saw a car pull up in the driveway, I ran out and told them that my mother was ill and she would have to reschedule the showing. They told me they hoped she felt better, got back in their car and left."

"You said that you and Gail shared everything?" Joe said.

"Yes, I told you that," Nadine replied.

"Well, there's one thing she didn't share with you," he said, revealing the other diary—the one that told the truth.

"That's Gail's diary. She always writes in that. I told you that, don't you remember?"

"Maybe you better read a few pages," said Joe, as he opened the diary to the entry that disclosed the murder of Mrs. Wilcox. "Start reading there." Joe pushed the book toward her and the girl began to read. After a few moments, she stopped.

"I don't understand," she said. "I told her what to write in her diary. She must've wrote it after—boy, what a liar and a fink!" Nadine stopped in mid-sentence and began to shuffle through pages.

"I'm afraid you're the liar. First of all, it wasn't a joke and all in good fun to write murdering your mother and you told her what to write. You had it all planned out."

Nadine stopped sifting through the pages for a moment, her shoulders sank. Instead of saying anything, she continued to comb through the diary.

"You're not going to find what you're looking for," Joe said. "You won't find it because we have that diary right here as well." He held up the other one.

Nadine snatched it out of his hands and breezed through the pages. "You mean, she had _two_ diaries?"

"You're looking right at them," said Joe.

"Why didn't she tell me?" asked Nadine.

"Maybe because she had something you were lacking."

"And what's that?"

"A conscience."

The girl opened her mouth, but Joe interrupted her, "You know young lady; parents try to raise their children into good law-abiding citizens. We try to instill decent values in them, make fine students and caring individuals out of them. You and nobody else ended your mother's life in a cowardly act of violence. She did not deserve the final justice you bestowed upon her. I hope you think long and hard about that in the four by nine room that you will most likely be spending many years alone, and I hope you finally see that the terrible act you committed is unacceptable in our society."

Around a quarter to five, Joe and Bill were back from the interrogation room, filling out the last bit of paperwork on the Mrs. Wilcox case. They both made small talk about how they believed that both girls, especially Nadine, needed serious psychiatric help.

For the last order of the day, Joe went to Captain Hugh Brown's office and brought him up to date on the Mrs. Wilcox case. Before Joe left his office, he reminded him that he had been on vacation before this case. All Captain Brown could do was laugh and tell Joe to be back at the office on Monday. Well, at least he was getting most of the week off.

He smiled to himself as he signed out for the day and told Bill he would see him on Monday and to enjoy the rest of his week at work. While waiting for the elevator, Joe thought about Gracie. He was glad he was able to pick her up from work after all. He knew he was going to enjoy these next few days off.

Copyright © 2010 by Kristi N. Zanker


End file.
